


my chick do stuff that i can't even put in words

by curiouslyfic



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-08
Updated: 2012-06-08
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/427953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyfic/pseuds/curiouslyfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint could technically get himself out of the hostage situation, because Clint is a SHIELD agent with a considerable skill set of his own, but he doesn’t. </p>
<p>Truth is, he loves to watch Natasha work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my chick do stuff that i can't even put in words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thepretender501](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepretender501/gifts).



> For thepretender501@LJ, for being awesome. Much love to crazyparakiss@LJ for the beta and being amazing. 
> 
> Title from My Chick Bad by Ludacris.

Clint could technically get himself out of the hostage situation, because Clint is a SHIELD agent with a considerable skill set of his own, but he doesn’t. He could come up with some bullshit reasons, surveillance of the idiots who think fucking _Hawkeye_ is a good hostage, maybe plain ol’ laissez-faire, his total lack of give-a-damn at the ‘threat’ surrounding him. They’d both be true enough, Clint really is getting a read on the idiots who’ve taken him hostage and he really does find it all amusing, but he’d be lying if he said that was why he hasn’t done anything yet about getting himself unhostaged. 

Truth is, he knows Natasha’s going to find him, that she’s on her way over here right now, and Clint’s always been such a big fan of her work. He likes hearing stories later, checking security footage and seeing it on the news, watching her take down a cluster of people who really ought to know better and being badass without breaking a sweat. 

He likes all that well enough, but he loves seeing it firsthand, stealing a moment where and when he can to just enjoy Natasha being _Natasha_. 

Lesser men might be intimidated by a partner who could incapacitate them with not much more than a look — if that, and Clint’s seen the footage of the Hammer incursion, he knows damned well she doesn’t necessarily _need_ the look — but Clint Barton is no lesser man. Hell, he’s on the team of extraordinary people and he doesn’t have a superpower. 

He just has a highly specialized skill set and good people at his back. 

So sure, he could have the idiots around him begging Jesus and crying for their Mommies but hell, where’s the fun in that? Because any minute now, Natasha’s going to come through that door in a blur of speed and efficiency, all that ruthless grace of hers as she uncoils, and Clint’s going to appreciate the hell out of the gorgeous curves of her catsuit just as much as he appreciates the wet crunch of the heel of her palm breaking someone’s nose. 

Clint’s got himself a once-in-a-lifetime girl and he’s not much fussed about other people’s opinions. 

Hell, no one else really _knows_ Natasha — Coulson comes close but he can’t get past the last of her defenses, can’t quite ignore her need for personal space — and as far as Clint can tell, no one else much knows how to even try. They treat her like a pretty lady, a slinky sexpot or an assassin, a ruthless agent or a neutered friend. An awful lot of people seem to think she’s damaged, a silent time bomb or emotionally void, too cold to feel anything but pride. 

Clint doesn’t really understand where all that goes wrong but it makes him feel like a social genius for seeing through it, working out that she’s all of those thing in her own, that she wears all of it as shields. He does sometimes feel bad for the folks who think she’s cold because hell, ain’t nothing hotter than Natasha when she sets her mind to be, but on some level, Clint likes how wrong they are. 

As long as it’s not hurting Natasha, Clint likes having all that amazing _her_ just to himself, a private secret between them no matter how well known she gets. 

As long as it’s not hurting Natasha, Clint doesn’t care. 

The second it does, though, Clint has a problem, and he’s never been one to suffer in silence if he can help it. He’s already been banned from the Daily Bugle offices for a reason, but if it took a personal visit and a restraining order to get J. Jonah Jamieson to stop printing that shit about how mutant and manly Natasha is, well, Clint’ll wear that restraining order with pride. 

The Bugle’s moved on since to calling for Clint to be kicked off the Avengers — too volatile, apparently, and they don’t know the half of it, though someone somewhere’s let it slip that Clint doesn’t actually have superpowers or special armor — but that’s the kind of bullshit journalism Clint can get behind. All of New York loves them, they saved the damned world, J. Jonah Jamieson can print what he likes but no one worth saving’s going to turn down Clint’s help. 

And hell, he’d like to see the brave, stupid soul who tried to tell Natasha Clint couldn’t stay. 

That kind of damage would probably make what she does to the idiots holding Clint hostage look downright friendly by comparison. 

Because Natasha walks through the door like she owns it, like she has every right and reason to be there, and she’s got two guys down before the others know she’s there. 

Clint could quite happily watch her roundhouse kick forever, and not just for the way her catsuit hugs her ass. 

There’s only five of them, probably because Clint’s supposed to be the helpless Avenger, and he swears she’s annoyed there’s not more to do. She puts the last one down with a palm-heel strike and scans the area, fierce and fucking fabulously alert. 

Then she turns that deadpan annoyance on him, just stares at him like she’s expected better. He loves that she can give him attitude that quickly, that she doesn’t even try to untie him or whatever. Shit, he’s been out of his zip-cuffs pretty much since they went on and he’s good at playing hostage for surveillance purposes, but he _is_ still self-sufficient and perfectly aware of how fast shitty hostage-takings can go wrong. 

He fucking loves that she knows what he does and doesn’t need, that she knows him that well. 

It is impossible not to trust Natasha more than SHIELD agents are supposed to trust anyone beyond their handlers, but Clint can’t help it, because look how much she trusts him. 

“Did you take today off?” she asks as Clint pops up on his feet and grins. Of course that would be her question, of course she’d know it’s not whether Clint can handle himself, only just why he hasn’t. 

And because there’s the bright gleam of victory behind her look of annoyance, that pleasure she takes from a good and honest fight, Clint lets her see his own appreciation of her when he looks her over. 

“Nah, darlin’. I’m your damsel in distress.” There’s a bit of a wolf leer in his grin, he can feel it, but it doesn’t last long, can’t hold up to the fondness in how she rolls her eyes. 

“Idiot,” she says, like it’s his pet name. “This mean I’m carrying you out of here?” 

She’d do it, too. Hell, _he_ ’d do it, not one single reason worth giving why they couldn’t. 

“My hero,” Clint swoons in a sugary falsetto and when he bats his eyelashes at her, he swears he can see her lips twitch, her expression get just a little soft. 

And maybe there’ll be hot and naked later, maybe he’ll get the time and space tonight to show her just how much he appreciates every last perfect inch, but time and space are luxuries they don’t have yet. Clint can’t kiss her the way he wants, can’t hold her face still in his palms and tease a smile out of her with careful nibbles or lick his way to meet her tongue, but when it comes to kissing Natasha, he’ll take whatever he can get. 

So it’s easy to catch her wrist, lift her hand up to brush his lips over her knuckles and watch her melt just a little at the gesture. Easier still to turn her hand, press a light, wet kiss to her palm, murmur his thanks once in a low, rough voice before he does it again. 

 

~ f ~


End file.
